Systematic
by Kaketsu
Summary: A young blood elf and his stubborn undead companion consider the consequences of a forbidden action if they're caught. Rated M for foreshadowing. Flametankplzz.


And this, my _Dead Sleep_ darlings…

Has, by far, contradicted the theme of the original story. Thanks to a friend, I've determined the race and class of the two young…uhm…"heroes": Kaketsu is a Blood Elf Priest; Konsui is an Undead Rogue.

But the beauty of it lies in the turning point, doesn't it?

Read on, read on, my loves.

-

"Oh, my," Kaketsu began, fanning himself with his hand in an unnecessarily melodramatic fashion, "where have I gotten myself, now? I'd gone for a walk to get my staff fixed and now_ you_ appear." After a moment's hesitation he looked from the brilliant gem-embedded rod, now wrapped in bandages and useless to a priest of his standing, to the ruined young man, his expression quite quizzical. "What do you want?"

"I believe you wanted me for something." Konsui's eyes, hollow and weak, fell upon the stave, and right through the blatant wellspring of knowledge that his eyes held Kaketsu could see that the decrepit boy could tell that his holy relic had seen its last. And then, as his gaze shifted from the pale, ugly face of the dead man to his slim, claw-like fingerbones he noticed the folds of paper. More importantly than the envelope itself, he noticed the lettering on it; his name was spelled out in bold blue ink.

"What's that?"

Konsui, whose attention was absorbed by the weapon's pitiful wound, gave a start and looked up. "Well, what do you suppose it is, Kaketsu? A letter to an old friend? A parcel to be sent to the king of Stormwind?" Konsui scoffed slightly as the name of the city rolled off his ever-rotting tongue.

"Well, why is my name on it?" Kaketsu's eyes, painted a deep shade of green, stood hard against his plain skin. "Maybe it's addressed to me?"

"As if you've won a lottery," Konsui replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes, which were, quite truthfully, nothing more than rootless balls that knocked around within in skull in a comical fashion. Then, without a word, he handed the scrawl of paper to Kaketsu, whose face immediately softened when he touched the cold hand.

_Oh, I _do_ feel bad for him,_ he thought as he tore open the envelope with clumsy fingers. _How someone like him is forced to face consequences like some sort of horrible, winding hell! Who's damned him? Is there someone even higher above a God, if possible, who refuses to let him rest?_

Written on the paper in slanting cursive handwriting was some sort of poem. _No, not a poem!_ he thought pathetically as he buried the fingertips of his left hand into his long, dusty-red hair. _That bastard isn't like that. He thinks nothing of others. He's completely self-absorbed, a drone, if you will._ He shook his head as exasperation suddenly shot through his blood. _But why this poem? Why this damned poem?_

"Konsui, what in the almighty universe is _this_?"

"Would you like to play a guessing game, again?"

"No, I think I'd like to sit this one out."

To escape the confusion—and his gaze—he sat himself down in the stark, dying grass, removing a flask of alcohol from his waist pouch and arguing with himself over whether or not he should drown himself in the red heaven that could escape easily from the vicinity of its container. Then, with a shrug, he took a long drink from it and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his brilliant robe, then repeated.

As soon as he found himself as safely numb as he could be he continued. "First you sneak up behind me and show me to a nasty time with your words, which is just like your type." He blinked shook his head violently, then continued.

"And after that, you hand me a sheet with some cute little love poem written out in some cute little cursive. What's your game?"

"I came to ask you if you wanted me to find someone to fix that for you." The corpse gestured calmly towards the elf's broken stave. "I believe that it will be easier on your part if you didn't have to pay."

Kaketsu considered this. It was true that he had no money, and an offer such as that was hard to pass up, but, considering the dead man's actions, which were, at the least, suspicious, he could only ask further into it before letting himself cave and accept the unusually selfless offer.

"Why, then," he replied, leaning forward so he was perched on his knees, "did you feel the need to stealth up behind me like that? Stupid rogue. It's as if you _enjoy_ scaring the living daylights out of people."

"I'd like to preserve my social status. It's not very reputable, you know, talking to a Blood Elf so…_informally_."

"'It's not very reputable, you know,'" the elf replied crossly, putting aside his reluctant companion's cause to mock him, "'talking to some dirty dead man in a leather shawl so…_informally_.' What are you, the king of _Stormwind_? So childish."

Konsui's monotone voice dropped into a hushed state. "I wanted to ask you to do something that you couldn't be caught _dead_ doing; it's a bit late for me, of course, but you…"

"You're scaring me." Kaketsu made a rude gesture towards the corpse, who disregarded it.

"If you're going to joke around, you can forget about your cute little casters' staves and magic blades. I know that your gold's gone down the drain since you spent it all on Lord-knows-what…"

"What do you want, then?" The young elf, whose appearance suggested that he was about sixteen or seventeen, cocked his head, suddenly serious.

_There is something about him…_

The undead man, Forsaken both by title and by the hand of the damned, touched the bare bone that held him connected to the world, and for a split second Kaketsu thought he could see a tear begin to form in his eye. "Could you make me…"

"I couldn't. It'd be dangerous for you. You'd be truly alive, then, I know you would, and please…_please_…" He sounded pathetic to himself, begging the person that he loathed with such a genuine and contradictory affection. "Konsui, _please_ don't run yourself into such a tight squeeze."

"Am I not worth," he stated smartly, raising his finger to the sky in a scholarly manner, "the healing hand of a holy priest? Couldn't you clean me of this 'sin?' Couldn't you reward me for whatever deeds I may have accomplished?"

Kaketsu stared at him for a moment, then erupted into nervous laughter, subsiding only when he began to hear the calm tapping of bone-against-grass. "Konsui," he replied, still laughing here and there, "you can be stubborn without even trying. Come. Sit."

As the man whose name meant coma sat himself beside the could-be-saintly elf the darkness suddenly dropped, as if the decision's meaning had hit him too late. _I don't want to,_ Kaketsu thought glumly as he raised his hands and touched the dead man's arm, _because I like him—I guess I love him…oh, damn it, I _love_ him—the way he is._

In a flash of light the drama unfolded into a flurry of brilliant golden strands, and as they unwound around the priest's slender fingers he watched the miracle unfold before his eyes: sheets—_sheets_—of pure skin and lean muscle wrapped the rotting bones, whose hardships seemed to have burned away into silver purity. The young man's eyes, his hair, his lips…all were fashioned smoothly, ashen white and soft as feathers.

And the priest succumbed to the mysteries of cold flesh and collapsed into Konsui's slender arms with his own around the boy's slim waist, both lips locked with sudden, frightening force, giving way only for tongues and muffled cries. Then, as Kaketsu broke with his eyes soft and painful, he said, "you're dead. You're _dead_."

"I don't want to live." His companion shrugged slightly, unsmiling. "I'm afraid of living. If I live I'll die again. I'll kill myself, again. Do I want that? Kaketsu, _do I want that_?"

"I don't think you do." The Blood Elf's eyes showed a hint of hardness, something that years of discipline had carved him into, but he knew he couldn't help it. "I mean, I hope you don't. But why did you ask me to heal you like this?" He laced his fingers with Konsui's.

He, who appeared to be the now white-stained remnants of a human man that matched Kaketsu's age, hissed, and his friend recoiled, afraid. "There are things that I want that I couldn't have had, and there are things that I want that I won't get to if you don't shut the hell up."

"Why don't you?" Kaketsu kissed Konsui's neck quite softly, and again, then once more, repeating and savoring the taste of flesh, afraid that the slightest slip in chance would cause some sort of discord that would destroy what had been created so quickly.

And as his fingers crawled upon the body of the boy whose tattered garments begged to be freed from binding him he felt as if he was slipping into something horrible…something horrible that he could savor.

And he knew that whatever holy binding that was holding him back had broken free, and that whatever he had wanted was now tackled by his wishes.

_And, oh, Konsui,_ the would-be rector thought while fingers graced skin and wishes graced the nighttime sky, _I've realized that I could disregard sin that's in relation to this sensitive topic—I've learned that knowing who dominates whom is more important than ethics or intelligence. Or maybe that's just me. Or maybe that's just him._

-

Uhm.

What. The. Hell.

This is gonna get graphic, y'all, now that Mr. Sunshine and Mr. Doomy are both fleshy and sexy.

Someone dropped the A-bomb, by the way.

Look over there!

A conversation with the original characters:

"Development."

**Kaketsu:** …no!

**Konsui:** What.

**Kaketsu:** I don't want to be subject to a stupid, mental-possessive phase where I answer questions!

**Stasia:** So your name is Kaketsu. You're a vampire and a zealot and really smexy. Someone I know likes my drawings of you!

**Kaketsu:** No! D:

**Anastasia:** Konsui! You're dead and Kaketsu commits acts of necrophilia upon your poor body.

**Konsui:** Go away.

**Anastasia:** And you're engaged. Stupid bitch. How old are you, seventeen?

**Konsui:** Yes.

**Konsui:** Now go away.

**Kaketsu:** _Christ_.


End file.
